


Might Like You Better

by maraudersly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersly/pseuds/maraudersly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Lydia get involved while Allison is in France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might Like You Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nighimpossible](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/gifts).



> I haven’t written fanfic for anything in a very long time, much less published anything, so I apologise in advance if this is completely horrid, but I tried okay. Also, I am terrible at writing sex because I blush at the screen like a moron and never know which words to use to make it less awkward so. Sorry. And let me know if there are any horrible writing mistakes because this isn’t beta’d and I didn’t even read through because if I did I probably wouldn’t post it.

> ❝  _TELL ME ABOUT THE DRAGON. tell me how it fell in love and burned the world apart for it._ ❞

It starts slowly, at first. Sure, she stares at him unashamedly, but he’s older, and married, and her best friend’s dad. Married really is the key word, though. He asks her to help pack Allison’s things. That’s how it begins, anyway. “Allison left in such a hurry”, he says. “And I don’t really feel comfortable going through her things. Could you help?” And well. How could she say no? Besides, Lydia could use the opportunity to do her supernatural homework. Derek had given Jackson (and her) the werewolf 101, but that didn’t clarify most things, and she preferred to spend as little time as possible anywhere Peter Hale could suddenly show up. And then Jackson had left. Chris Argent was a welcome distraction, and a much more accurate source of information.

The first day she gets to his house he answers with no shirt on. Chris apologizes and goes back inside to put it on, but not before Lydia can get a good look, and she definitely likes what she sees. They spend most of the afternoon sorting, and Lydia pretty much tosses everything she thinks looks horrible – after all, Allison is her best friend and she is doing it for her own good. They only start actually packing on the second day, him in his room, her in Allison’s. She’s armed with a permanent marker and a lot of questions.

They take a break, somewhere midday, and he cooks them lunch. For a moment, she swears she can see him spy on her from the kitchen as she sets the table. But he wouldn’t be looking at her. He hadn’t been all this time, why now? Well, like I said. Married was the key word. It wasn’t that he didn’t still love his wife, he did. As Lydia did Jackson, but heartbreak does weird things to people and lord knows they needed a distraction.

Chris sits down to eat and Lydia props her elbows on the table, leaning forward. “So, I have some questions.” He half smiles, half sighs into his plate, and takes a bite of the food before raising his eyebrows at her. They don’t pack anything else for the day, and at midnight they still find themselves in the basement, Lydia’s feet propped on the table as he continues to draw complicated diagrams on a blackboard, both faces frowned in concentration.

Finally, at well past two in the morning, Chris stretches and Lydia yawns and they decide it’s enough supernatural lessons for the day. She drops her chair back on all four feet and he rises from an unbalanced stool, both looking exhausted, yet feeling strangely fulfilled. They make for the stairs, and Lydia goes to find her handbag to leave when Chris stops her. “Don’t be silly”, he says. “You can stay in Allison’s room. It’s too late for you to go out by yourself, anyway. Just let your mom know.” She smiles; thinking to herself that there is hardly anything out there more dangerous than werewolves, but Lydia texts her mom anyway and spends the night in her friend’s room. He knocks on the door and wishes her goodnight before heading for his own, and she finds herself falling asleep with a smile on her face.

He wakes her up at nine in the morning with a loud knock on the door, and she walks downstairs in Allison’s crumpled pajamas and her hair pulled up in a messy bun. Chris offers her a cup of coffee that Lydia takes happily, leaning on the countertop. “So, how long have you been up for?” she asks, looking at his less than messy appearance and the plate of scrambled eggs, toast and grapes he hands her next. “I get up at five thirty every day. Old habits.” Lydia raises an eyebrow at him, but makes no further questions, biting into her breakfast. It takes her another forty minutes to shower and get dressed, so by the time she finally continues packing Allison’s things, Chris has already done the dishes and finished up in his room. Lydia catches him in the hallway, looking sadly at a three box pile of “Victoria’s things”.

She ducks into her friend’s room before he can see her staring, and he sticks his head in a minute later to warn her he’ll be packing the guest room next if she needs him. Lydia nods, dimples popping up on each cheek as she pressed her lips together, then turns to the pile of clothes still on top of Allison’s bed – she’d shared the space with them the previous night, and found it surprising none of the pile had ended up on the floor. It takes her the rest of the day to put Allison’s clothes and accessories in neatly organized boxes, and the two of them only pause for a lunch break, during which Chris seems so pensive that Lydia prefers not to interrupt whatever train of thought he is on. “I’ll come back tomorrow to finish her room”, she tells him when it’s time to leave, and he seems startled to realize she’s still there at all.

Lydia drives home thinking all the while about how she wishes Allison had more stuff. Chris didn’t seem like he was ready to be left alone, and she was pretty certain he was looking forward to that less and less. She knew, because she’d been there. Hell, she knew because she was  _still_  there. Lydia hadn’t spent more than two hours by herself since Jackson’s two deaths and general traumatic events, and she wasn’t really looking forward to that either. It takes her everything she has to drive back to the Argent’s the next morning, not because she doesn’t want to go, but because she doesn’t want to leave.

Chris doesn’t come to the door when she knocks, so she turns the knob and walks in, dropping her handbag on the couch. The house itself looks undisturbed (the first floor had yet to be packed, and Lydia didn’t even want to know what he was going to do with that basement), but somehow she still had a weird feeling. “Hello? Mr. Argent? Are you home?” When he doesn’t answer, Lydia climbs the stairs, makes her way to the end of the hall and knocks on his bedroom door. It opens enough for her to see him sat on his bed, red eyed, clutching a picture frame. “Mr. Argent?”

His head snaps up, and he puts the picture turned down next to him on the bed. “Lydia, hello. I’m sorry for not answering the door, it’s just…” Chris scratches an eyebrow, then sighs and lets his shoulders drop back down. “I didn’t hear it.” She steps into the room and sits next to him on the bed, patting his back uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. “It’s funny, when I was your age I loved to be by myself, but now…” Lydia takes a deep breath, smiles, takes his left hand in her free one. “It’s okay Mr. Argent, I don’t really like being alone either these days.”

“Chris”, he whispers. “You can call me Chris.” And she does.

Slowly, Lydia finds herself spending more time at the Argent’s than at her own house. She finishes packing Allison’s things, then offers to help him with the study, and with the first floor. Soon enough she’s looking for good storage deals (for the basement, and for Victoria’s things), and helping Chris find a new place. They settle for an apartment with two rooms and a study, and Lydia tells him that he should buy Allison a new bed, all things considered. Chris buys a new one for himself as well. Before they notice, a month has passed and Lydia almost has to pack a box of her own the day before they are scheduled to move everything to the new place.

He is sitting in the couch – one of the few pieces of furniture still in place – with a book on celtic mythology when she walks downstairs the morning of moving day. “Anything interesting there?” she asks from the kitchen, getting herself a cup of coffee. “Not really. There’s an entry on druids that is relevant, but just now I’m reading about banshees. Strange creatures.” Chris shrugs as she sets her cup next to the couch. They’ve settled into a comfortable routine, starting the morning with some not-so-light reading, having lunch, then spending the afternoon with a few supernatural lessons only interrupted by watching a film here and there. Just the classics, of course.

He’s still nose deep in his book when her knees sink into the sofa cushions to each side of him, her fingers grabbing his leather jacket, pulling him closer. Chris gives Lydia a puzzled look before she takes his book and drops it on the floor, realization dawning on him. He’s about to protest, something about how she’s too young, or how she’s Allison’s friend probably, but she puts a finger over his lips, moving one of his hands to her thigh, and Chris no longer seems to remember what he was about to say.

He toys with the hem of her skirt playfully, a sheepish smile on his face, and Lydia presses the weight of her on top of him, feeling him get hard. Chris lets his hands wander under the fabric of her skirt, and Lydia lets a surprised gasp out before meeting his lips with hers. He moves her underwear out of the way with two fingers, and she unbuttons his jeans with one hand, the other busy in an attempt to shake off his jacket. Finally they meet, her body moving on top of him, and Lydia smiles through the kisses when he buries his face on the curve of her neck and plants a kiss on her clavicle.

His fingers sink into her skin where they lay, on her waist and ribcage, and she sports a bruise perfectly shaped like a thumb under her left breast for a week after that. He starts saying something – “I’m going to c-” – half whispering, half growling the words but she covers his mouth before he can finish the sentence, and slows her pace. She is in complete control, and they both know it. For once, Chris is happy to just let go. He kisses the bruise on her ribcage every time they are together until it fades away.

They spend the next three months together. Lydia helps him set up the new apartment and, at nights, she lets her head rest against his heart, and it doesn’t sound so broken anymore. She can’t help wonder if hers sounds like that, too. Chris walks into the kitchen one morning to find her wearing underwear and his leather jacket only, and finds a smile creeping on his face. “It looks good on you”, he whispers as he hugs her waist and softly kisses her neck. Lydia’s dimples pop up as she smiles, turning around in the embrace, two cups of coffee in her hands. “You look good on me.” She winks, sipping some coffee.

Allison gets home from France that afternoon to find two forgotten cups of coffee on the countertop. She frowns at the sight, but Chris looks so happy, she decides it’s better to not ask. If only she knew just how much better.


End file.
